PART 5 – His Father’s Letter
I kept staring at the envelope.
My hands had grown cold.
On the front was a single name.
Marco.
And underneath it, the date.
The day before his father left us.
More than twenty years ago.
I didn't know this letter existed.
I didn't know my husband had ever written it.
And above all…
I didn't understand why he had never given it to Marco.
“Mama?”
Marco’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
He was standing next to me, looking at the envelope in my hand.
“Where did you find that?”
I slowly shook my head.
“In the box.”
His expression changed.
As if he instantly knew what it was.
“That’s from Dad.”
I looked at him.
“Did you know about this?”
He quickly shook his head.
“No.”
His voice grew softer.
“I didn't even know it still existed.”
We both remained silent.
For twenty years, we had both thought we knew everything about that period.
But apparently, secrets were still hidden in our own house.
I carefully turned the envelope over.
The glue was old.
The paper had yellowed.
“Should we open it?”
I asked.
Marco looked at me.
“It was written for me.”
He took a deep breath.
“But I want you to be here.”
Those words did something to me.
Because in the past, I had always tried to protect him from pain.
But now he was asking me to stay by his side while he had to face something difficult.
I handed him the envelope.
With trembling fingers, he opened it.
Inside was just a single sheet of paper.
The handwriting was clear.
I recognized it immediately.
It was from his father.
Marco began to read.
My dear son,
If you are reading this letter, it probably means I am no longer sitting beside you.
Marco paused for a moment.
His breath caught.
I placed my hand on his shoulder.
He went on.
I have done many things right in my life.
But I have also made mistakes.
One of them is that I often thought I had to be strong and show no emotions.
I thought a father should mainly be the one who solves problems.
But I have learned that love means more than just taking care of someone.
Love also means showing how much someone means to you.
Marco looked up for a moment.
His eyes were already red.
He read on.
Marco, as you grow older, I want you to remember one thing.
Your mother is the strongest person I have ever known.
But even strong people get tired.
Even strong people need someone to look out for them.
My heart beat faster.
I didn't know why.
Maybe because I had never expected those words.
My husband had never told me how he felt so often.
He was a man of few words.
He worked hard.
He took care of us.
But feelings…
He almost never talked about them.
Marco read on.
When you were little, I thought we had to protect you.
But one day you will understand that your mother might be the one who deserves protection the most.
Take good care of her.
Not only when she asks for help.
But precisely when she says everything is fine.
Marco stopped reading.
He looked at me.
And I knew exactly why.
Because that sentence struck me.
Precisely when she says everything is fine.
My whole life I had used those words.
As a shield.
As a habit.
As a way not to bother anyone.
Marco slowly folded the letter closed.
“Why did he never give this to me?”
I swallowed hard.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he wanted to save it.”
“Maybe he thought he had more time.”
Marco looked at the floor.
“So he knew that you always pretended to be strong.”
I smiled sadly.
“Your father knew me well.”
“But he didn't truly understand it until it was almost too late.”
A long silence fell.
Then Marco said:
“Mama…”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever felt lonely?”
I automatically wanted to answer:
“No.”
Just like always.
But this time I stopped.
Because I knew my son would notice the difference.
I looked at my hands.
“Yes.”
It was the first honest answer I had given him in a long time.
“But I didn't want anyone to worry.”
Marco took my hand.
“Why not?”
I smiled softly.
“Because I’m a mother.”
He shook his head.
“That’s not an answer.”
I looked at him.
And for the first time, I didn't just see my son.
I saw the man he had become.
“Maybe because mothers sometimes forget that they are allowed to be people too.”
That night I slept poorly.
Not because I was sad.
But because so many memories came flooding back.
My husband.
The years we tried to build a family together.
The difficult days.
The beautiful days.
And above all…
The moments when I thought no one saw how hard I was trying to hold on.
The next morning, I made coffee.
Just like always.
But this time, something was sitting on the kitchen table.
A small card.
From Marco.
There was only one sentence on it:
“Mama, today I want you to have to do nothing at all.”
I smiled.
But when I turned the card over…
I saw a second sentence.
A sentence that made my smile slowly fade away.
“Because I finally understand why Dad wrote that letter.”
And underneath it:
“There is something else I need to tell you about the last months of his life.”
